Page 44 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
“Yes, but we value honesty more.” She winks.
Something passes between Yuna and Tony, tinged with a hint of awkwardness and another emotion I can’t quite place. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they did something sketchy—the usual suspects, like cheating. But I know it isn’t like that. I trust Tony one hundred percent. And if they’d done anything wrong, he wouldn’t have told me about Yuna. And unlike with other “friends from my past,” my gut isn’t telling me there’s something fishy about Yuna.
She asks me how I spent my years since the accident. I skim over all the therapy—it’s boring and dreary—and talk about my travels around the world instead. Yuna interjects with the names of Curtis classmates who now live in various cities, mostly in Europe. Yves Lombard went back to Paris; Diane Steinwitz is now teaching in Prague. When I mention going to a concert in Berlin, she says, “Did you get to see Zack? Zack Thames? He’s with the Berlin Philharmonic now. Oboe.”
“No.”
Yuna wrinkles her nose. “That’s too bad. He was totally in love with you. And he owes you whatever it cost to get a seatbelt fixed.”
“What?”
“Yeah, he dropped a paperclip into the buckle and broke it. I swear, he’s the clumsiest guy in the world. His fingers are always fumbling, he stumbles everywhere, but somehow he can play the oboe like a god. When he realized he broke the buckle, he stuttered and apologized, like, twenty times. But I think he was also mortified because he had a huge crush on you, and you were totally oblivious. Despite his genius with oboe, him being only sixteen, he didn’t know how to approach you, hahaha. The older woman.”
“Me? An older woman?”
“You were eighteen at the time. An impossible chasm. I’m sure he thought he blew his chance forever.”
I smile, wistful for what I don’t remember. “He sounds like a nice guy. Genuine.”
“He is. He’s married, the last I heard. Expecting his first child. But how about Barry Lim? He was touring in Europe. He was in London, Paris and Rome last year, performing on Il Cannone.”
“Wow. I’m sorry I didn’t know about that. I would’ve made sure to get a ticket.” Il Cannone is Paganini’s violin, and not everyone gets to play it. The violin may not be my instrument of choice, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it.
Mr. Kim returns, and his expression can only be described as grim disappointment. He leans over and murmurs to Yuna.
“Problem?” Tony asks.
She shakes her head. “No. I was trying to have a digital piano delivered, but it seems they can’t do it until the day after tomorrow. I hope that’s okay?”
“Sure, I guess. But what do you need a digital piano for?”
“To prove my point about her, me and a duet.”
“Oh my goodness, you don’t have to,” I say.
“Yes, I do. I’m not letting whatever happened over the last few years make you doubt your ability or talent. I’m going to fix it if it’s the last thing I do.”
“What are we going to play?” I ask faintly.
“Rachmaninoff’s ‘Taranella.’”
I’ve only heard it once. It’s a fast, passionate piece. And since it’s Rachmaninoff, it’s also hard. Like, really hard.
“You said you can play pieces you’ve practiced before. We spent six months on Rachmaninoff’s Suite Number Two,” she adds.
“Right…”
“You’re going to reclaim your music,” Yuna says, her voice thick. “And everything else you’ve lost. I’ll make sure of it.”
It’s a vow. And as much as I want to do what Yuna is saying, I’m afraid of what it will cost—my panic attacks, whether or not I can handle them and what kind of disappointment I’ll be if I fail.
